with the obsessive tendencies. Probably my husband. He seemed the type. Controlling. Freakishly neat.
Ansel repeated his question, closer this time, but I ignored him, probing the floor for a hidden seam or loose board. There was nothing. Undeterred, I began knocking at regular intervals, listening for a telltale hollow thud.
Ansel stuck his head beneath the bed. “There are no weapons under here.”
“That’s exactly what I’d expect you to say.”
“Madame Diggory—”
“Lou.”
He cringed in a perfect imitation of my husband. “Louise, then—”
“No.” I whipped my head around to glare at him in the dark space, cracking my head against the frame and swearing violently. “Not Louise. Now move. I’m coming out.”
He blinked in confusion at the reprimand but scrambled back regardless. I crawled out after him.
There was an awkward pause.
“I don’t know why you’re so frightened of Madame Labelle,” he said finally, “but I assure you—”
Pffft. “I’m not frightened of Madame Labelle.”
“The—the someone else, then?” His brows dipped together as he tried to make sense of my mood. My scowl softened, but only infinitesimally. Though Ansel had attempted to remain distant after our disaster in the library two days ago, his efforts had proved futile. Mostly because I wouldn’t allow it. Beyond Coco, he was the only person in this wretched Tower I liked.
Liar.
Shut up.
“There is no one else,” I lied. “But you can’t be too careful. Not that I don’t trust your superior fighting skills, Ansel, but I’d rather not leave my safety up to, well . . . you.”
His confusion changed to hurt—then anger. “I can handle myself.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“You’re not getting a weapon.”
I hauled myself to my feet and brushed a nonexistent speck of dirt from my pants. “We’ll see about that. Where did my unfortunate husband run off to? I need to speak with him.”
“He won’t give you one either. He’s the one who hid them in the first place.”
“Aha!” I threw a triumphant finger in the air, and his eyes widened as I advanced on him. “So he did hide them! Where are they, Ansel?” I jabbed his chest with my finger. “Tell me!”
He swatted at my hand and stumbled backward. “I don’t know where he put them, so don’t poke at me—” I poked him again, just for the hell of it. “Ouch!” He rubbed the spot angrily. “I said I don’t know! Okay? I don’t know!”
I dropped my finger, suddenly feeling much better. I chuckled despite myself. “Right. I believe you now. Let’s go find my husband.”
Without another word, I turned on my heel and marched out the door. Ansel sighed in resignation before following suit.
“Reid isn’t going to like this,” he grumbled. “Besides, I don’t even know where he is.”
“Well, what is it you all usually do during the day?” I made to pull open the door to the stairwell, but Ansel caught it and held it open for me. Okay, I didn’t just like him—I adored him. “I assume it involves kicking puppies or stealing the souls of children.”
Ansel looked around anxiously. “You can’t say things like that. It’s inappropriate. You’re a Chasseur’s wife now.”
“Oh, please.” I gave an exaggerated eye roll. “I thought I’d already made it clear I don’t give a rat’s ass about being appropriate. Shall I remind you? There are two more verses to ‘Big Titty Liddy.’”
He paled. “Please don’t.”
I grinned in approval. “Then tell me where I can find my husband.”
A short pause followed as Ansel considered whether I was serious about continuing my big-breasted ballad. He must’ve decided I was—wisely—because he soon shook his head and muttered, “He’s probably in the council room.”
“Excellent.” I looped my arm through his and bumped his hip playfully. He tensed at the contact. “Lead the way.”
To my frustration, my husband wasn’t in the council room. Instead, another Chasseur turned to greet me. His close-cropped black hair gleamed in the candlelight, and his pale green eyes—striking against his bronze face—narrowed when they found mine. I fought back a frown.
Jean Luc.
“Good morning, thief.” He recovered his composure quickly, sweeping into a deep bow. “What can I do for you?”
Jean Luc wore his emotions as plainly as his beard, so it’d been easy to recognize his weakness. Though he masqueraded under pretense of friendship, I recognized jealousy when I saw it. Especially the festering kind.
Unfortunately, I had no time to play today.
“I’m looking for my husband,” I said, already backing out of the room, “but I see he isn’t here. If you’ll excuse me—”
“Nonsense.” He pushed away the papers he’d been examining and stretched